


The Shadow of a Dream

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canon Asexual Character, Consensual Non-Consent, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Guilt, Humor, Kink Exploration, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Crush, Sexual Fantasy, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Wet Dream, ace subtype: sex neutral/interested
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27842179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: Martin starts having some rather... interesting dreams. When Jon finds out, his curiosity propels their relationship into new territory.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 45
Kudos: 239





	1. i know you, i know what you'll do

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super excited to finally start sharing this fic. I've had this first part written for a long time, and I really love how it came out, and I just recently started working on it more and I'm still having a lot of fun writing it. 
> 
> I want to make it clear though that this fic definitely delves into Some Topics, and if you dislike Consensual Non-Consent or depictions of dub/noncon scenarios, even if they're kept pretty vague and are strictly fantasies, you may want to skip this or makes sure you check the content warnings in the end notes first! Most of the 'noncon' in this fic comes from Martin's dreams, and they're mainly featured in this first chapter. Subsequent chapters will be more focused on the kink exploration and actual CNC scenarios. 
> 
> I think that's all for now! I wanna offer a special thanks to Prim for looking this fic over and helping me brainstorm things for future chapters! 
> 
> Please heed the tags and check out content warnings in the end notes! Hope you enjoy~

_Jon’s hands are elegant beneath Martin’s. His wrists can both be held, secured, with ease. Martin watches himself trace a line along Jon’s pulse, feeling it jump beneath the pad of his thumb. Then it slides and dips into the lighter, softer skin of his palm.  
_

_“M-Martin…”_

_He’s always loved Jon’s hands. They’re long-fingered and well-creased like the cracked leather spine of a book, dark and refined. He paints his nails, too, a revolving parade of black-purple-yellow-blue._

_“Martin…!”_

_Jon’s hands aren’t small, not exactly, but Martin has always been bigger, his wrists thick and his palms wide. His pale skin covers Jon easily. Martin can cradle him from wrist to first knuckle._

_“Please…”_

_Grip secure, he applies pressure. Jon’s wrists have nowhere to go. Something in Martin lights up at this. His grip tightens. When Jon moves, Martin can see his flexor shift beneath his skin. He’s beautiful._

_“Stop, please!”_

_Martin closes his eyes. There’s a warm feeling in his belly, wherever his belly happens to be. He’s not sure, exactly, where the rest of him is. The only important thing is Jon beneath him, gently tugging, and Martin holding him. He loves holding Jon like this._

_“Martin… Martin! Stop, please, please-”_

_Nail to flesh, pulse racing. Soft dark skin and warmth. Pressure._

_“No!”_

Martin wakes up with a jolt. He buries his face in his pillow and ruts against the sheets, shivering, frenzied from the last scraps of a heated dream that cling to him. When he comes it’s sharp and it lasts longer than he thinks it should, leaving him a trembling mess beneath his too-thin cover. 

“What... “ Martin curls up into a ball and furiously rubs his face against his pillow, does it until he sees spots behind his eyes, until the last remnants of pleasure have been swallowed up by a fog of dread. “What the fuck.” 

It’s a fluke, he tells himself. The half-remembered wet dream is ignored with a vengeance as soon as Martin’s out of his shower. Work is mundane and normal. He, Jon, Tim, and Sasha go out for drinks to celebrate the arrival of the weekend. Jon sits next to Martin, leaning just so against his shoulder, and by then the dream is forgotten. 

* * *

One week later, Martin has a nightmare: 

_He and Jon are trapped in the archives. There’s something chasing them, and Martin doesn’t know what, but he’s sure if it finds them, it will tear them apart- or dig into them- unwind them-_

_They’re in the stacks when Martin hears a sound, something wet, something squelching. Jon is just behind him, panting, and so small, his thin frame unsteady from all the running. Martin grabs his wrist and pulls them into a closet. Presses his back to the door as he closes it. Pulls Jon against him, his back to Martin’s front. Puts a hand over Jon’s mouth to keep him from shouting in surprise or distress._

_The closet is hardly better, too small for the both of them, really, and as the sounds outside grow closer, the closet seems to shrink. Martin tries not to panic, arms wrapped around Jon. He can feel the man whimpering against his palm. Feels the way he trembles._

_The closet is dark, nearly pitch black, yet there comes a light faint and soft as fog creeping in from somewhere. Just behind Martin, the creature shifts, searching. Before him, beneath him, Jon begins to cry._

_Shh, Martin tells him. He aches to see Jon like this. He presses his hand more firmly against Jon’s mouth, fingertips digging into his cheeks. The arm around Jon’s torso grips him closer, shifts lower. Secure. Shh._

_Something moves. Jon whimpers, tries to pull away, but the closet is much too small for that. He’s pushed into Martin, and Martin into Jon, and that’s the only reason, surely, why Martin is pressing back. Curling over Jon, gripping him, smothering him. Rocking into him. Shh, he tells Jon when he tries to scream. The noise outside is louder, the light more fuzzy, the dark heavy like a pillow being held against his face._

* * *

“Martin?” 

When Jon says his name, it’s uncharacteristically sharp, which is an extremely funny thing to consider. Or, it would be, if it didn’t startle Martin so badly he nearly dropped his mug. To think they’ve known each other long enough for that tone — slightly accusatory, a bit fed up — to seem out of place, coming from Jon. “Huh?” 

“Are you… Are you doing alright?” 

Martin tries to play it cool, setting his mug down on the coffee table as he sits. They’d paused in the middle of a documentary for Jon to take a call. Martin, desperate to soothe his ever-fraying nerves, had predictably taken the opportunity to make a pot of tea. “What, uh, what do you mean?”

“You’ve seemed distracted lately,” Jon says. Then, before Martin can speak, he adds, “And no, not that kind of distracted. The nervous sort. Is something worrying you?” 

“N-no, I mean, I don’t really have anything to worry about at the moment-”

Jon stares at him for a little while, brown eyes focused intensely on Martin’s. Once they’d become proper friends, Jon’s reluctance to maintain eye contact had slowly evaporated. It was like he didn’t find it productive to look over someone’s shoulder or let his gaze wander — no, he was as straightforward and direct with this as he was with most things. It certainly worked to his advantage when he wanted to provoke a reaction out of someone or deter further ‘workplace harassment’ (i.e. teasing from Tim or Sasha.)

Martin tried to hold his gaze, but then he got to thinking about how pretty his eyes were, that deep, rich brown color. Then Martin remembered one of his more recent daydreams — a thought he’d briefly and shamefully entertained in the shower last night, just long enough to get himself off. It had definitely involved those eyes, just as beautiful as they are now, overflowing with tears. Martin looks away. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, knowing Jon won’t believe him. He’s hardly hiding the fact that it’s a lie, really, but rather than fret, Martin leans into it. Shrugs and offers Jon a sigh. “I’ve not been sleeping great,” he admits, deciding a half-truth would be useful now. “Lots of weird dreams; nightmares, maybe.”

“What sorts of dreams?”

“I dunno, I don’t really remember specifics.” He pauses, considering. “Just how they make me feel. Sort of… off.” 

“Hmm.” Jon doesn’t sound entirely satisfied, but eventually he sits and reaches for the remote. Martin hopes his relief isn’t too obvious. 

* * *

“Hey Martin, can I ask you something?”

“Oh, sure.” Martin puts a file away and then turns to Sasha, who’s got a look on her face that might be ‘concern’. “Something up?”

“Well, that’s sort of what I was wondering,” she tells him. “Did Jon do something to make you upset?”

“What?”

“It just seems like you’ve kind of been avoiding him,” she explains. Twirling one curl in her finger, she goes on to say, “I mean, sure, you’ve dipped in for the usual tea runs, but the last couple of days you’ve been cagey.” 

Martin tries to keep his face as neutral as possible. “I’m… not upset with Jon.”

“Then why do you keep avoiding eye-contact with him?” 

“Well-”

“And I noticed you keep asking Tim and me to take things to him, or ask him questions whenever you’re ‘too busy’ to spare a moment yourself. What, do you not want to talk to him? Or be alone with him, for some reason?” 

“N-no!” Martin stands up. He wants to leave, right now, and pretend this conversation never happened, but there are still files to put away. Has he really been so obvious? “Why- why would I be avoiding Jon? Look, he hasn’t done anything, alright? He hasn’t, uh, said anything that hurt my feelings, and he hasn’t done anything that made me mad, so there’s no reason to worry.” 

“But why, then?” Sasha takes a half-step closer, trying to look him in the eye, before sighing and pulling back. “Look, sorry Martin. I’m just curious. I haven’t seen you act this nervous around Jon in ages.” 

“It’s fine,” Martin insists. “Jon hasn’t done anything wrong.” 

And it’s true. Jon really hasn't done anything other than exist, and that’s certainly not a crime. It’s not his fault Martin can’t control himself, can’t trust himself not to say or do something that will ruin their friendship, can’t stop having his sick, unwanted dreams. At this point, he can only assume — or hope, really — that a bit of distance will calm down his imagination. He hates feeling like he swallowed a boulder every time he looks at Jon, the guilt so heavy in his stomach it’s almost difficult to breathe. 

Sasha crosses her arms, but shrugs. “I guess it’s really not any of my business,” she concedes, “but seriously, if you need something from Jon, you’re going to have to talk to him yourself, okay? I’m not a courier pigeon delivering messages for you.” 

“Yeah, of course! Sorry, Sasha.”

She goes, and Martin stays, alone and wary of some growing sense of anticipation.

* * *

One morning Martin wakes up, grabs his phone, and texts Tim, asking him to let everyone know that he won’t be in for work. Tim asks what’s wrong, and Martin lies about feeling sick. Tim asks why he didn’t text Jon directly, which is what Martin is supposed to do in a situation like this. Martin doesn’t reply. He drops his phone and stares at the ceiling and tries not to panic. 

His dreams last night were… extremely vivid. They kept him restless, waking up for brief moments in the middle of the night, only to fall back in like some force of gravity. They had mixed up together into a jumbled mess, evolving and twisting, all revolving around the central theme of:

_They were all running. Something in the trees, in the blocks of black and blue between the thick, swirling trunks. Jon, there, then lost. Tim and Sasha had been there, but soon they were lost. Martin, but he was lost. He could see them through the trees, running, from or to? He couldn’t remember and hadn’t been sure, had only been afraid, wondering where everyone was and if he could reach them._

_The grass grew and grew until it was too big to see through. Then he’d found Jon, hiding in a bushel of roses. Their red dripped down long, twisting stems, pooling at the ends of their wicked black thorns. Jon took Martin’s hand. Martin held out his hand, and red fell into it. A handful of rose-scented something that he put into a cup, watching the tea turn dark._

_He’d given Jon the tea. They were in his office, and it was that time of day. Jon thanked him for the tea, took a sip. Martin could hear the rustling of treetops, and could feel wind, that empty coolness of night. Jon drank and became sleepy._

_Of course he was tired — they were all tired. The Thing was still out there, whatever it had been, and the archives were safer, but it was important to sleep. Jon let Martin take his arm, pull him up from the desk._

_Martin knew there was a cot in document storage, one Jon liked to sleep on when he couldn’t tear himself away from work before it got too late. The cot was big and soft and held both of them so easily. The tea had stained Jon’s lips, just enough so that the bloody red was visible where his lips were wet._

_There was no resistance when Martin took him. He tasted sweet and pliant._

_And then the roses bloomed, a fragrant wine that stained Martin’s mouth._

_Jon, against the bed. Jon, between the trees, looking back behind him with wild fear in his eyes. Jon beneath the rose bush, surrounded by thorns. Martin, over him with a hand on Jon’s chest, pinning him down, feeling his heart._

Martin had woken up rutting into the mattress with the memory of something soft and metallic stuck in his teeth. He closed his eyes and saw Jon, drugged, helpless, draped in something red, the dark of his body warm and open for Martin to slip into. 

Needless to say, he wasn’t up for work. 

Martin expected to spend the rest of his day wallowing and trying not to think about his most recent batch of fucked-up dreams. What he didn’t expect was for Jon to let himself in a full hour before he should have left work, bag slung over his shoulder, face looking quite determined. The sound of keys in the door nearly gave Martin a heart attack where he sat on the couch, idly shoving some microwaved leftovers into his mouth for a late lunch. “Jon? What are you-”

“Why are you avoiding me?” 

Martin stares. “I. Um.”

The look of concern and distress on Jon’s face is almost worse than all the guilt Martin’s been carrying. He sits up, puts his food to the side, and feebly offers, “I’m really sorry, Jon.”

“Why?” Jon closes the door behind him, and Martin can’t help the way his palms sweat at the sound of the lock turning. He’s never had a problem being alone with Jon in his flat before, but now it just seems inappropriate. Ill-advised. Jon shouldn’t be locked in a room with Martin, not now, when Martin’s been thinking about- “Did I do something?” 

“You didn’t do anything,” Martin tells him. Seeing Jon’s expression, he says, “You really, really didn’t. It’s just- I’m the one being weird, it’s not your fault at all.” 

“...But it has to do with me,” Jon says. “I’m the one you won’t look at anymore, and now you’re avoiding work just so you don’t have to see me.” 

“I didn’t go to work today because I was feeling bad,” Martin argues weakly. 

“You don’t seem sick to me.”

“M-maybe not, uh, sick, per say. But… but definitely, uh, not feeling well.” 

“What sense does that make?” 

Martin puts his face in his hands, his heart racing. “Jon, listen, I’m just having a bad day. I swear it’s not your fault.” 

“You keep saying that,” Jon replies. Martin watches with dread as he walks over and sits on the opposite end of the couch. “If I’m not the one making you upset, then what is? Can’t you talk to me about it?” 

“I…” 

“You usually talk to me about things,” Jon mumbles. He’s looking away now, fingering the strap of his bag in that way he does when he’s nervous. “For a while I thought maybe this was about your mother; maybe something happened or she said something that upset you, but then you would have told me. Or if not me, then Tim. Or you would have just said that’s what it was, and that you were handling it on your own. You would have said _something_ to _someone_.”

They sit in silence for a moment while Martin debates with himself. He really, really doesn’t want to admit to his weird dreams and fantasies, least of all to Jon. There doesn’t seem to be any way out of this conversation without admitting to something, though. Idly, Martin wonders how much he can omit while still giving Jon something believable. 

“Right. You, uh, you’re right,” he says. Martin tucks one of his legs beneath him, turning to face Jon more. Jon’s hands fall into his lap as he leans forward, eager to hear what Martin has to say. A swell of fondness might have threatened to overtake Marin if the guilt wasn’t keeping his affection in check. “Do you remember the other day, when I said I’d been having a rough time sleeping because of nightmares?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s sort of been the entire problem. I keep having… really vivid nightmares. They’re… upsetting.”

“Upsetting how?”

Martin bites his lip, glancing away as he tries to think of the best way to phrase it. “Usually… Uh, usually, it’s me and you — sometimes Tim and Sasha, too. We’re in some sort of trouble, or running from a monster or something. But, uh- sometimes it’s like… Sometimes it’s like I’m the monster? And I end up hurting you- you all.” 

Jon frowns at that. “You’re not a monster.” Oh, Martin begs to differ. “And that’s only a dream.”

Martin pulls back a bit, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, it’s still upsetting. I don’t want to hurt you — any of you. Even in a dream. I don’t like it, the way I am, in the dreams.” 

“But that’s obviously not you. It’s not as if you’re going to turn into some terrible creature all of a sudden, nor would you ever do anything to hurt us on purpose.” 

Martin only shrugs in response. He’s told Jon more or less what he’s willing to admit. Jon seems to realize this, for he sits back as well, a calculating look on his face. Martin tries not to sweat or fidget too much, but his nerves have been shot since this morning. Much too soon, he breaks, asking Jon, “What? What is it?”

“Nothing you’ve mentioned has anything to do with me specifically,” Jon tells him. “But I’m the one you specifically have a problem with.”

“I- I already told you, Jon, you didn’t do anything wrong-”

“Then are you the one doing something wrong?” Jon asks, and Martin’s stomach drops. “Is that it? You’re doing something to me in the dreams, and that’s why you’ve been getting so nervous around me?”

“Um…”

“How long have you been having the nightmares?” 

“...I dunno… Maybe a month? Two months?”

“So it’s a recurring scenario,” Jon concludes. “In your dreams, you’re doing something bad to me.”

“Jon-”

“You mentioned you think you’ve been cast as a monster in the dreams. Are you… hunting me down? Chasing me? Do you eat me or something?”

“N-no, no, nothing like that.” Martin feels panic rising in his chest. “Jon, look, I really, really don’t want to be talking about it-”

“But I’m right!” Jon stands up, tossing his bag off his shoulder so it lands with a thump on the floor. Then he’s in Martin’s space, sitting so close that their thighs touch. “Martin, what is it? Can’t you just tell me?”

“You- it- It’s bad!” Martin turns away. “It’s really bad.”

“Do you think it’s going to make me hate you or something?”

“...Maybe. It’s really not great,” Martin tells him miserably.

Jon pulls back, just a little, to give Martin some room to breathe. “Martin, I promise nothing you say is going to make me think less of you or make me upset with you. Unless it’s lucid dreaming, the things that happen in your dreams aren’t exactly up to you or in your control. They’re more often than not pure nonsense anyway. So will you please just tell me what’s been making you so… upset, lately?”

“Just… In the dreams. Usually, uh, near the end, I do something to you. Like…” Martin rubs at his cheeks, feeling their heat, and hates how he can’t tell whether he’s blushing from mortification, embarrassment, or arousal. The idea of telling Jon about his smutty, awful fantasies… “I tend to, um. Take advantage of you.”

“...What?”

“Like.” Martin covers his face with his hands. “Like, uh, sexually?” 

It’s dark behind his hands, and the dark is almost comforting in the face of Jon’s silence. Eventually, Jon says, “Oh. So you’ve been… having sex dreams about me?” 

“I guess.” Martin’s voice is dreadfully frail. He can’t bear not seeing Jon’s expression, and when he peeks, he’s not sure if it’s better or worse to see that it’s mostly blank. “I wouldn’t really call them that. They’re very much-so nightmares.” 

“So you’ve been having nightmares where you… take advantage of me…” Jon trails off, his face some odd mix of morbid curiosity and concern. Then, abruptly, he exclaims, “For _two months?”_

Something about his face, his tone — open and obviously genuinely surprised, yet devoid of any sort of disgust — pulls an unexpected bark of laughter out of Martin. He turns away, covering his face again as he snorts. “Y-yeah! Sorry, sorry.”

“Martin, really?”

“Yeah,” Martin giggles. Then, taking a deep breath, he tries to look earnest as he turns to Jon and says, “I’m really, really sorry. I told you it was awful.” 

“It certainly isn’t what I might have suspected,” Jon tells him. He’s hard to read, eyes bright and focused, but if nothing else, Martin has the feeling that Jon’s not nearly as upset as he probably should be. 

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Martin asks, his voice small. “I mean, even if I wasn’t thinking about- that sort of thing, specifically, I just told you I’ve been having, uh, fantasies about you. And I know you don’t really have much interest in sex, generally.”

Jon leans back against the couch, still close to Martin, for reasons he cannot fathom. “Ah, no, that part doesn’t bother me especially. I mean, I guess I’m a bit surprised? But it doesn’t upset me or anything.” 

“Really?”

“Really.” Jon looks thoughtful, then adds, a note of exasperated humor in his voice, “Tim has told me something similar, before.”

“What? No way!” 

“Back when it was just the three of us in research. He propositioned me, actually.”

“Tim’s never mentioned that,” Martin grumbles, and makes a mental note to bring it up with their coworker later. 

“So, no, I understand this is just a thing that happens,” Jon tells him. “In fact, I, uh, I tend to find it… oddly flattering?”

Martin blushes. “I mean. I wouldn’t take this as much of a compliment.”

“Not the rest of it,” Jon tells him. “Just the basic idea of you having a sexual fantasy about me.”

“Oh, god-”

“Obviously I’ve mentioned I don’t really think about that sort of thing often, if at all,” Jon continues. “But hearing someone admit they find me sexually attractive… It’s sort of interesting. I always wonder why. If Tim wasn’t such an infuriating fellow, I might have invited him to share specifics.” 

If Martin had been drinking something, he’s likely to have spit out it out. He stares at Jon, slack-jawed. “You- you would’ve wanted details?” 

“Why not? From what I’ve read and discussed with a few old friends in uni, sexual fantasies can be extremely varied and terribly interesting. Imagining myself involved in any of those scenarios… well. It’s sort of fun, I guess. In an abstract way. Mostly amusing.” 

Jon perks up, then, and Martin isn’t sure he likes the look on his friend’s face. “Actually, Martin, why don’t you tell me about one of your dreams?”

“W-what? Why would you want to hear about that?”

“I’m curious,” Jon admits. After a moment, though, he adds, “You don’t have to, of course.”

“I just… I don’t know. Won’t it be weird?” 

“It doesn’t have to be. I’m curious, and I would like it if you told me. And it was just a dream, Martin — again, I know you would never do anything to hurt me in real life.” 

“B-but, but, isn’t it bad that I keep having the dreams?” Martin asks him. The feeling of levity they’d found is already beginning to fade, leaving Martin with his discomfort. He so desperately wants Jon to understand why this isn’t okay. “It’s awful! I shouldn’t be thinking about this sort of thing, let alone g-getting- ah, getting, um, excited by it,” he says, feeling wretched. 

Jon puts a finger to his chin, scratching at the small patch of stubble there. “I, personally, don’t believe that sexual fantasies containing dubious themes are inherently bad or wrong to have… I’m approaching this from a largely uninvolved, theoretical perspective, but what I know for sure is that sex is complicated, and the human psyche has a lot of fun mixing it up will all sorts of things for interesting results.”

Martin grimaces. “I barely understand what you just said.” 

“What I mean to say is, there could be more than a few reasons why you’re having this sort of recurring dream,” Jon tells him. “It doesn’t implicitly mean that you want to do anything to me that you know I wouldn’t want.” 

“...I guess,” Martin says, though he feels mostly doubtful.

“Again, you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to,” Jon says, “but I’m really quite interested, now, if you want to share one of your dreams? Maybe it’ll even help you feel better.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Martin tells him, but he doesn’t say no. Somehow, Jon has actually managed to make the situation seem less dire. He still feels sort of gross for the dreams, and he definitely feels awful for the daytime fantasies he’s entertained, but the idea of describing one of the dreams to Jon now doesn’t seem quite so impossible. Maybe it’ll feel like describing any other dream, so disjointed and distant that Martin will feel the full unreality of it. 

So, slowly, careful to avoid the worst bits, Martin recounts his most recent dream to Jon. He mentions the forest and the rosebush, and how it seemed like he’d drugged Jon, put something in his tea. Then he took him to the back room to…

“It gets, um, kind of vague,” Martin tells him. He wonders just how red his face is right now. “The end, it’s never super detailed, actually? But it’s less about what actually happens, and more that I know what’s going to happen.”

“Hmm.”

“And then I, uh, woke up.” 

“Right in the middle of it?” 

Martin tries not to combust. “Yes.” 

“Did you…?” Jon makes a vague gesture at Martin, who can only hide his face in the couch. His silence is enough of a confession. “Huh!” 

“That’s all you have to say?” 

“I’m thinking. Do you suppose you could tell me about another one?” 

Martin turns to stare at him. “Really?” 

Jon shrugs, and actually starts to pout. “You don’t have to.” 

“You are… so… odd,” Martin tells him, then he can’t help but laugh. “I’m really glad you’re not freaking out, but a part of me feels like you should?”

Jon gives him an unimpressed look. “I’m getting tired of repeating myself, Martin. There’s no reason to worry over it, because you would never act on urges like that, even if you did have them. Like I said, they’re just dreams.” 

The guilt Martin feels is sharp, enough to show on his face before he’s able to hide it. Jon, unfortunately, notices. “Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

Internally, Martin sighs. In for a pound, then. “Just that… Maybe, sometimes, they aren’t dreams, exactly. Maybe sometimes it’s… a daydream?” 

“You’ve thought about this on your own? As a fantasy?” 

“...Yeah,” Martin admits. “Sorry.” 

“But why?” Jon asks. Somehow, his tone is still light, despite the content of their conversation. “You’ve been so upset about the dreams you’re having… Enough to try avoiding me and not come in to work. But you still find the idea of it arousing?” 

“Um, sort of?” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know!” Martin fidgets in his spot on the couch, feeling embarrassed and oddly giddy, or restless — he’s not sure. He’s feeling all sorts of things right now. 

“Can you tell me more?” Jon asks. “Your other dreams, I mean. Maybe it’ll give me a better idea.” 

A better idea of what? Martin doesn’t ask. When push comes to shove, Jon is taking this whole thing infinitely better than could be expected, and Martin’s not inclined to push him in the other direction by being difficult. At the expense of his own fragile dignity, he’ll happily give Jon what he wants as long as neither of them has to think much harder about why Martin’s been jerking off to the fantasies. 

“Okay, so… Well, there was one where I was just sort of holding you down. Nothing else happened, really. I remember specifically I was holding down your wrists, and you were… begging me to stop.” 

Martin falters a bit at the end, but Jon nods him along, so he continues. “Then I had one where you and I were at work, in the stacks, and something was following us. We went into a closet. I think, uh, I think I meant to hide us there so it wouldn't find us, and I was holding you against me, and I had a hand on your mouth so you wouldn’t make any sounds to give us away. I don’t remember much more except the closet was getting smaller, and you were struggling, but I wouldn’t let you go.” 

“Hmm. That’s the second dream that had us running away from something,” Jon says.

Martin shrugs. “So?”

“You were concerned for my safety, in those scenarios.”

Martin thinks about this. “Well… I don’t know. It kind of feels like it was just an excuse, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, the set up of us being in danger is just an excuse for me to take advantage of you,” Martin explains. “It’s like... I’m allowed to do it, because the alternative would be you getting eaten by a monster or something. I’m just making up a justification.” 

Jon taps his chin, his collarbone. Martin gratefully takes a break from talking, leaving Jon to his thoughts as he starts standing up. “D’you want tea?” 

“Yes, please; thank you.”

Strange. This whole day has been strange. Martin makes them both tea, the motions so familiar that he can hardly believe what they’ve been talking about for the past half-hour. When he’s back on the couch, handing Jon his mug, he only feels the faintest remnants of his original panic and dread. “You really don’t mind all this?” he asks Jon, disbelief clear in his voice. 

Jon shakes his head. “Mostly I’m interested in why you’re having this sort of fantasy, specifically.” 

“Hm. I guess it is sort of like a puzzle,” Martin says. Sipping his tea, he adds, muffled against the rim of the mug, “Some weird, fucked up kink puzzle.” 

“I think I might do some research,” Jon says under his breath. 

“Oh my god, please don’t start reading academic papers so you can, like, psychologically profile my wet dreams,” Martin begs. 

“Hah! You didn’t call them nightmares that time.” 

Martin tosses one hand up in the air, a gesture of defeat. “I mean, I admitted to actively fantasizing about it, so I can’t really say they were all bad dreams now can I?” 

“I did actually want to ask you about that.”

“Damn. Should have kept my mouth shut.”

“No, listen, I think this could help. What is it you fantasize about, specifically? Do you think about things that happened in the dreams, or do you make up something different?”

Martin wants to object to the idea of detailing his fantasies to Jon, but the questions do get him thinking. There are actually a few differences in the way he likes fantasizing about Jon as compared to the dreams he’s been having. “Well. Uh, usually, in the dreams, it’s very vague. All I know for sure is that a lot is happening around us, and when it’s just the two of us, I’m… doing something to you, and you’re usually objecting. The rest is mostly just suggested or implied.”

“Mmhm.”

“When I… fantasize, like, in the shower or something…” Martin hesitates. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be talking like this? It- it is about you.” 

“I promise I don’t mind,” Jon tells him. 

“Okay. Uhg, well, so yeah, usually I’m just imagining something that is sort of related to one of the dreams, but a little different. Same setting, different plot? And when the part comes up where we- where I’m, um-” 

“Raping me,” Jon supplies. 

Martin’s throat feels bone fucking dry. “Y-yeah. But when I’m in control of the fantasy, it’s a little different. Less... “ He tries to fight through the turbulent emotions swirling in his gut. “I don’t know, less scary? It- It’s still sort of ambiguous, exactly what I- what’s happening. But not in the same way as when I’m dreaming. S-sorry, I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, I think I understand,” Jon says. “In dreams, logic is superimposed. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, no matter how absurd, the fact that it’s a dream means it makes sense. So when you dream about those frightening things happening, it feels real, even if it’s not.”

“Yeah…” 

“Meanwhile, the daydreams happen when you’re totally conscious. So it’s like you said, you have control over what’s happening. Even if you keep the details vague, you know in essence what you’re aiming for.” 

“I guess.” Martin shrugs. “Gosh, can we, uh- do you mind if we change the subject? I’m really, really glad you’re not angry with me for all this, or freaked out or something, but also I think I’m going to burn to a crisp if we keep talking about it.” 

Jon, with visible reluctance, backs off. “Sure; of course. Sorry if I pushed.” 

“No, it was fine. I’m… I'm glad we talked, actually.” Martin lets out a shaky laugh. “I’ve been so worried about this since it started happening. I felt really awful.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And I was so sure you were going to be upset with me.” With a grimace, Martin turns away. He does not want to start crying right now, god, not after everything else. That’d be the cherry on top, if he started blubbering in front of Jon. 

“I’m not upset,” Jon tells him. After a second’s hesitation, Martin feels the couch shift beside him, and then Jon’s hand is on his shoulder. It’s a light touch; he’s always careful about touching, even now that they’ve gotten so comfortable with each other. Martin appreciates it a lot more than he’s ever been able to express — he loves the casual touching, he really does, but sometimes it can be too much for him. It’s just not something he ever got used to. 

Martin turns slightly, letting Jon see his smile, and leans into the hand. Jon gives him two decisive, firm pats before pulling away. “I would apologize for coming over with no warning,” he says, almost out of nowhere. “But I was fairly certain asking ahead of time would have resulted in another snub.”

“I haven’t snubbed you!” 

“Oh yes you have. You’ve refused to do anything that would involve either of us being alone in a room for more than ten minutes,” Jon tells him, arms now crossed. He does not look pleased, not at all. “Do you even remember the last time we watched anything together, or had dinner?” 

“Uh…” Martin tries and fails to fish a recent example from his memory. “...Okay, I guess I’ve been kind of distant lately. Sorry. I’ll make up for it!” 

“You could start by making us dinner?” Jon says, his voice carefully prodding, hopeful and friendly. It’s kind of him, offering a clear chance for Martin to retreat and focus on something more mundane, to repay Jon for all the trouble in a tangible way. “If I recall correctly, you promised to make us perogies the next time we got together.” 

“Oh yeah! Yes, I- I think I have everything here for it. Let me go check.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs:  
> > martin has dreams where he rapes jon and is both upset and aroused by them  
> > one of the dreams includes martin drugging jon’s tea  
> > the dreams have build-up and jon clearly resists, but nothing outright sexual is explicitly described  
> > eventually martin starts having daydreams in a similar vein; these are referenced but not described in detail  
> > jon eventually confronts martin and they have a long discussion about it (he's not upset though!)  
> > warning for secondhand embarrassment on martin’s part, for having his fantasies discovered and prodded at by jon’s curiosity?


	2. i'll walk with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, content warnings are in the end notes! Please enjoy!

To Jon’s relief and satisfaction, Martin’s behavior goes back to normal almost immediately following their chat. In only a few days, their dynamic settles into something resembling what it had been. 

However, it’s not long before Jon realizes not everything is exactly the same. There are still mornings where Martin has trouble looking him in the eye. Sometimes Martin will be comfortable sitting near or next to Jon when all four of them go out, and sometimes he’ll make it clear (as unobtrusively as possible) that he’d prefer a seat one or two spots away. It doesn’t hurt the same way it did before Jon understood the reasons why, but still, it’s distance that’s there. Distance Jon doesn’t want to have between them. 

Here’s the thing: Jon doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to making friends. It’s never been easy for him to feel comfortable around strangers, certainly not enough to speak candidly, and he’s horrible at reading the subtleties of a conversation, especially when it comes to tone and body language. He can easily get caught up in his own thoughts, whether they be anxieties or fixations, and it feels like he’s always talking too much, or not at all. He’s either too cold and stoic, or he’s infodumping onto a stranger in the same way he would comfortably engage with a much closer friend. Needless to say, these sorts of things have not been super conducive to his social standings. Typically, his peers are mostly just that — people his age, colleagues, nearby. 

But then came Tim, who took a liking to Jon after they’d been placed in the research department. Tim, who was naturally friendly and charming to a fault, and somehow stubborn enough to deal with Jon’s prickly personality. With Tim came Sasha, who was a bit less intimidating, and who enjoyed engaging with Jon at the more academic level rather than social. The three of them made an odd but compatible little team. 

When Elias randomly transferred Jon into the archives to spearhead it’s long-overdo reorganization project, he’d realized how reluctant he was to leave the two behind. They’d become his friends — at least, that’s how he thought of them. So when Elias explained he could take his pick of those in research to join him, Tim and Sasha were immediately offered those positions. 

Then came Martin, plucked from the library and placed on their team with no prior warning or consultation. Oh, their friendship had developed in a manner most messy. Sometimes Jon really couldn't believe how close they were now, given how they’d started. He honestly didn’t like thinking about his old behavior much — he’d been stressed by his new position, sure, and frustrated by Martin’s minor faults, and in some ways more than a bit jealous at how easily he’d been taken in by Tim and Sasha. On nights when Jon felt he had too much work to do, the three of them would sometimes go out for drinks. On weekends when Jon took work home with him, or simply needed time to himself, he would almost always have to hear what his assistants had gotten up to come Monday morning. 

He’d thought Martin was annoying, and every interaction with him had been stressful and overwhelming for Jon. But it wasn’t like that anymore. No, quite the opposite: Martin was a steadfast and calming presence in Jon’s life. In some ways, the two of them were closer now than Jon had been with either Tim or Sasha. It was just so easy to talk to him. He was less intense than Tim could be, but more personable and receptive than Sasha. There was an air about Martin that let Jon know he was really aware of Jon, that he was paying attention in a way Jon wasn’t terribly used to. 

So, yes, it bothered Jon to have anything interfering with their friendship. Especially something as benign and inconsequential as a sexual fantasy. 

Okay, so it wasn’t just one fantasy. The fact caught Jon up sometimes, when he’d allow his mind to drift during work. He’d stare at one wall in his office and go over all the things Martin had explained to him the other night — the dreams, the fantasies. Obviously, he’d been surprised over the truth behind Martin’s odd behavior towards Jon, but he never could have guessed it would be over something like… well, like rape fantasies. It seemed almost comically out of character, that someone like Martin would be having wet dreams about subject material like _that_. And, even more surprising, these dreams were about Jon specifically. 

Now that was intriguing. As Jon had said to Martin, he knew he’d been fantasized about before. Georgie admitted to thinking about it sometimes while they were dating, though her rather lackluster sex drive never made it an issue between them. She was content to enjoy a dream or two and never thought to ask if Jon might want to try anything. Back then, he’d been more firm in his self-assurance over having no interest at all in actually engaging in sex, even if he did find some things about it interesting. Georgie hadn’t been shy when he’d prodded for details, though by her own admittance, it was all pretty vanilla. 

Then there was Tim, slightly drunk one evening when he and Sasha dragged Jon out to a pub. Sasha left about an hour earlier, complaining of a headache, and the two men ended up trading embarrassing ‘fun facts’ about themselves. Jon admitted to having played _Hamlet_ in a production during his school days, which set Tim off laughing for five minutes straight. Perhaps it was only fair that Tim countered by admitting he’d daydream, sometimes, about bending Jon over his desk. 

Jon was shocked at the time, but not in a bad way. No, it sent something like a thrill down his spine; it made him feel attractive that night, like anyone in the pub might see him in the gritty dark and want to take him home. He’d shamelessly prodded Tim for more details, which the man had been enthusiastic to give. Of course, when Tim began sidling closer in the booth, the suggestion of something more tinging his breath along with all the alcohol, Jon had to let him know he had no personal interest in realizing any of the man’s fantasies. Tim took it well enough, hadn’t asked again, and the rest of their night went on as normal. 

It was fun, especially when Tim shyly approached Jon the next day to apologize for being inappropriate. Jon let him know it was fine by teasing him, saying he’d want that particular statement in writing, and Tim had called him a prick before getting back to work with a smile. 

That was before the archive, before Martin was a part of their little group. Things were different now, and Jon was really starting to realize it with all this new information. It felt… nice, in a way, knowing that Martin liked him enough to fantasize about him. Thought Jon was attractive, maybe. It was flattering, no matter what Martin argued; the content itself was less important, in Jon’s opinion. 

Though, it was pretty interesting that all the fantasies were of that particular… flavor. Rape fantasies: it was still a bit difficult to believe that Martin of all people would enjoy something like that. Then again, what did Jon know, really? In an abstract way, maybe he understood the concept of people enjoying sexual fantasies centered around non-consent. In the very little porn he’d bothered trying to watch, just to see if it offered anything that worked for him (it really didn't), it seemed that rough treatment of the subject and pleasure analogous to pain was a traditional aspect. Maybe that had more to do with other factors, though, than sex itself. 

It became a sort of puzzle that Jon would poke at in his mind, whenever he had an idle moment. Soon, it became even more than that — he caught himself thinking about it quite often, whenever his mind would wander. Sometimes he’d be in the middle of working on something, trying to focus, when he’d think something absurd like _Would I enjoy something like that?_

The obvious answer was _no_ , of course not. Jon’s feelings on sex were complicated, but he was sure he wouldn’t enjoy it any more when being forced to engage. So why, then, was his mind so fixated on the fantasies? They weren’t even his own! It wasn’t as if Jon was daydreaming about those things — Martin had been the one to start it, only telling Jon about it after he’d been prodded. 

It took a few days, but eventually Jon realized what the feeling was: curiosity, and the desire to investigate. He wanted to know and understand more about Martin’s fantasies. 

So he waits until another night comes, hardly more a week later, when the two of them are alone at Jon’s place. It’s his turn to make dinner, and given that they’re meeting Tim and Sasha tomorrow to spend their Saturday at one of the less local museums, Martin is staying the night on Jon’s couch. It’s as good a time as any, Jon reasons.

Jon waits for the conversation to lull during dinner before he asks, “Martin, I was wondering… have you had anymore of those dreams about me?” 

Martin, thankfully, does not choke on his water. He still coughs a little after carefully swallowing it, though. “W-what?” 

“I asked-”

“I- wait, sorry, I know what you asked. I just… Jon!” 

“What?” Jon asks, somewhat affronted by Martin’s tone. “It was just a question!” 

“A really personal question,” Martin tells him, already beginning to blush. 

“We talked about it before,” Jon counters with a bit of a pout. “Rather candidly.” 

“I can’t believe you’d just- no, you know what? I can believe it, that you’d just… bring that up out of nowhere,” Martin sighs. For a moment, Jon worries about being a bother — maybe it really was inappropriate to bring it up again, and he doesn’t want to upset Martin. But when Martin rubs his face and looks at Jon again, there’s clear, if strained, affection in his eyes. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s just that… You’re still acting a bit weird around me.” 

“I- I know, I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine, but I guessed it was probably because of your dreams. Which would mean you’re still having them.” 

Yes, Martin was definitely blushing now. He had such naturally rosy cheeks, it was like there was hardly any more room for extra, and instead it spilled down his neck to hide below his shirt. “W-well, yeah, sure.” 

“I’m just curious,” Jon explains.

Martin stares at him, then shakes his head with a weak chuckle. “I really cannot understand why you like hearing about those things. I mean… It really isn’t creepy or upsetting to you?”

“No, not at all. Honestly, I’ve developed a bit of a fascination over the whole thing.” 

“Oh, dear.” 

“Listen!” Jon waves his fork at Martin’s food, encouraging the other to resume eating. With reluctance, Martin does so, giving Jon room to order his thoughts. “As I’ve already told you multiple times, just because you dream or fantasize about certain things doesn’t mean you endorse them, or would ever do them to me or anyone else. Fantasies can be wildly removed from reality; we shouldn’t take them at face value.” 

“But it’s not something that’s ‘wildly removed from reality’,” Martin argues around a small mouthful. At Jon’s glare, he rolls his eyes and hastily finishes chewing before he goes on. “Look, fantasizing about raping someone isn’t the same as, as, I don’t know... turning someone into a chair or something.” 

“...Is that something people are into?” 

“Jon, focus. I just pulled that one out of the air, but I’m sure there are a lot of odd, impossible things that get people off. Unfortunately, rape is something I could very easily do in real life. It’s not some abstract thing.”

“But you’d never _do_ it,” Jon insists. 

Martin looks like he wants to argue the point, but stays quiet. Taking his silence as a minor win and encouragement, Jon continues. “We’ve already discussed this, so let’s move on. The other thing is that the dreams involve me, specifically. Unless that’s changed since last time?”

Martin, with red ears, shakes his head. “N-no, that’s right.” 

“Alright, so you can understand at least a bit why I’m so asking. The dreams _do_ involve me, it’s only natural that I’m interested.”

“So, what, you think you’re entitled to hearing about them then?” 

“No! Of course not.” Jon sets his fork down — he isn’t eating anyway, and he doesn’t want this conversation to get out of hand. With clear reluctance, though he really does try to keep it down, he says, “Martin, we can drop the topic if you don’t want to talk about it. I don’t mean to pressure you into talking about things like this if you don’t like it.” 

Martin leans back in his chair and lets out a loud sigh. Jon flinches, just slightly. Then Martin’s eyes soften and he says, “Look, Jon, I think… I’m just going to have to get over myself, maybe. It obviously doesn’t bother you, and as long as you’re not upset, I can’t really complain, right? So I might not get it, but I can respect you telling me that it’s really fine.”

“Does that mean you’ll tell me?” Jon asks, perking up. 

Chuckling, Martin says, “Eat, first, please.” 

Jon does eat, and Martin has to fuss and remind him not to inhale it. Once they’ve finished, Martin insists on helping him hand-wash the dishes. As Jon washes and he dries, Martin begins to speak. “I’ve had a couple of new dreams. One was recurring — the, uh, the rose one, with the tea. You want to hear one of the new ones?”

“Yes, please.” 

Martin rolls his shoulders, letting out a nervous laugh, but after a moment he starts up again. “Okay, so, I think it was like… You, Tim, Sasha and I were going to a club. It seemed like a normal night for a while. I remember it being really dark, but we never lost each other. There were a lot of people there; it all felt very crowded, and that part was realistic, almost too real? It made me feel sort of claustrophobic, being caught up in a crowd like that. But no one else minded, so we stayed and had drinks and talked about whatever. 

“At some point, Sasha wanted to dance, so we all went out. She and Tim ended up somewhere else, so it was just you and me…” 

Martin falters, focusing for a moment on taking the now-clean cup from Jon’s wet hands. As they approach the last few dishes, Jon tries to subtly lessen the amount of water coming from the faucet, so he can hear Martin better over its noise. 

“We… danced, for a bit. Normal dancing, then, um, closer. I think… I remember being a bit confused? You never dance like that, especially not with- But then it started to feel natural, and fun. 

“Then, all of a sudden, you were lost in the crowd. I tried to find you, but it took me a few minutes, I think? You were wearing this pretty blue shirt, and it stood out in the dark room. I had to push through other people to get to you, but eventually I found you and I grabbed your hand. I remembered feeling really overwhelmed, and I think you noticed? You asked me if we should leave, but I didn’t want to ditch Tim and Sasha without saying goodbye. We looked for them, but there were too many people. 

“Eventually I spotted a door leading out into a back garden, and I knew we could go there and come back instead of just leaving the club. We could get some air, then come back. I started leading you over… But then, uh, this is when it, um-”

“Go on,” Jon prompts. He’s given up any pretense of washing, turning the faucet off. The background noise disappears, and in its absence is a silence so heavy, so full of _something_ , Jon can feel it settling onto him like a blanket. Martin’s blushing again, staring resolutely down at the plate he’s been rubbing circles into for the last minute or so. The rag in his hand is slightly damp, a cheerful yellow, bold against the maroon dishware. 

“You start dragging your feet,” Martin says, voice lower than before. “You don’t want to go out that way, but I’ve still got you by the wrist, and I keep pulling you along. Suddenly the crowd is a lot easier to get through. We make it out into one of those little back-alley gardens, you know, where people can go to sit and smoke?” 

“Yeah.” 

“There are other people there, but they don’t notice us. I can’t remember if you were saying anything, but you were- struggling. I grabbed you by the arms and I pushed you up against one of the walls.

“It- um, it was quiet for a bit. I mean, it wasn’t — there was still noise coming from the club inside, the doorway was open, so we could hear it. But no one outside was talking, and you were just breathing, I think. I could feel you breathing and hear it, because you were right between me and the wall, and I was standing right in front of you.” 

“What were you doing?” Jon asks, his voice almost a whisper. 

Martin glances away.. “I was just… For a while, I was just holding you there, I think. My hands on your arms, and your hands against my chest. You were shaking. The music started to fade away, and so did everything else, except for the plants hanging around us. Then I, um… I started touching you. I just remember, uh, the beginning, when I was feeling you- touching you through your shirt.” 

“You mean my chest?” 

“Yeah. You were making little noises.” Abruptly, Martin takes a deep breath, then puts the dish he’d been clutching on the drying rack. “That’s it really. It started going the way it usually does, after that: kind of mixed up and foggy. I think I, well. You know. Took you against the wall, or something.”

“Ah.” 

Martin finally looks back at Jon, and quirks a brow. “You’ve got a really intense look on your face.”

“Oh. Do I?”

“Yeah. Are you okay?” 

Jon considers the question. He feels… odd, floaty. It’s hard to take stock of his own body for a minute, limbs distant and fuzzy. “Hm... I think I’m alright. Could you- could you help me to the couch?” 

At the request, Martin melts back into his usual demeanor, clearly concerned. He takes Jon by the elbow, very gentle, and guides him out of the kitchen to sit on the couch. Martin sits two spots away, wringing his hands. “You sure you’re okay? You look a bit like, I dunno, like you’re in shock or something. Was talking about it like that too much?”

“No, no, it was fine. I’m not bothered or upset, I promise.” 

“Then what is this?” 

“I’m not sure. Listening to it, I suppose I just- I was in the moment, or something. I was very invested while you were telling it.” 

Martin gets an odd look on his face, but only says, “Huh.” 

“It’s really interesting, the way your dreams seem very different, but in many ways similar,” Jon starts. The feeling of blood and sensation returns to his limbs, and suddenly the floatiness is gone — he’s very much so in the moment, and excited to discuss his thoughts. “Nearly all of them start with the same basic premise: you and I, and our friends, in some sort of trouble, or we get separated from each other. Usually we’re running from something. You and I are either together from the start, or you find me. You take me someplace private, and when I begin to resist you, hold me down and rape me.” 

Martin does a full-body flinch that makes Jon falter, just long enough for Martin to say, “Can you please not say it so- so bluntly?” 

“...That’s what you’re doing, though,” Jon says. He’s only stating the facts, rather plainly.

“Just- that _word_. It makes me feel... really gross,” Martin grouses. 

“What would you rather I say?” 

Martin only shrugs, which isn’t helpful, but Jon notes how queasy he looks. So, instead of expressing his personal frustration, he simply gestures and says, “Fine, when you do… you know what.”

“Uh huh.”

“I know you said before you felt as if the scenarios were mere excuses for the action, a narrative you build to justify doing something you see as morally wrong. I’m not sure it’s quite like that though.”

“Seems pretty obvious to me.”

“It’s an interpretation,” Jon says with a half-shrug. “I think it could have more to do with some genuine desire to help me.” 

“That’s not- What I do in those dreams is the _opposite_ of helpful,” Martin says with great conviction.

“I’m just saying there could be other reasons-”

“You know what _I’m_ curious about?” Martin interjects. He stares Jon down, waiting, but Jon doesn’t speak again. He dislikes being interrupted, sure, but Martin only ever does it when he has something pertinent to say. 

Seeing that he has the floor, Martin continues, looking more than a little relieved. “What I want to know is why you’re so interested in all of this.” 

“I already said-”

“Yes, I know, you mentioned you have, well, _intellectual_ interest in the subject. Clearly analyzing it is part of the fun for you, sure. But I don’t really get it. You don’t- I mean, it’s not arousing to you or anything, right? So what’s with the insistence that we talk about it? I guess I just don’t quite understand what you’re getting out of it, especially when I’m not really telling you anything new. You just said the dreams were really similar, right?” 

Jon considers this. It’s true, he’s never been this invested in something sexual before. Especially not something that was actually quite personal. Martin might be having the dreams — they may be _his_ fantasies — but they still featured Jon. As was evidenced by that little incident back in the kitchen, it clearly affected Jon, being the focus of those dreams. 

“...I mentioned before that I don’t mind the idea of being sexually desired,” Jon starts. Martin seems to understand his tone, and leans back in the couch, getting comfortable while he waits for Jon to gather his thoughts. “Before, when the others told me they thought about me in that way, I mostly found it amusing. I was surprised both times, then curious, but it didn’t go so far beyond that. I could appreciate that they found me attractive or interesting enough to want that, but it never quite… Maybe I never wrapped my head around the fact that it was _me_. Does that make sense? It was about me, but it sort of felt like I was hearing about someone else.”

Martin nods along, so Jon continues. “It’s different with this; I realize that now. I don’t know if I can really put it into words though. I just feel more… involved? It feels like me.” 

“...Huh.” 

Jon’s feelings and thoughts are muddled here, but he tries to explain, even if his answers come slowly. “I think it hit me more just now, when you were telling me about your dream. It felt like I could… imagine myself in the situation, in a way I’ve never really done before.” 

“Oh.” Martin glances away, rubbing at his neck, then asks, “And that… It didn’t make you feel upset?” 

“No, no, mostly I was… I don’t know, it made me feel _something_. I think I was more focused on the idea of what was happening.” 

“Can you be more specific?” 

Jon thinks back, tries to hone in on anything that elicits a strong response. After a moment, he realizes there is something of a common thread, something that sticks out in his mind as he reviews everything Martin has told him thus-far. “In your dreams, you’re often holding me tightly. You’ve got a hand on my wrists, or you’re restraining me.”

“Yeah, sure…” Martin nods, once, like something makes sense to him. “That’s what you like?”

“...Do I like it?” Jon asks, mostly to himself. He looks down at his hands, thinking hard. “I mean- Hm. Maybe?” 

Martin leans forward, now, eyeing Jon with newfound interest. “You can like something like that without it being sexual, y’know. It might not arouse you, but maybe it’s still kind of exciting to think about? Does it feel like that?”

If Jon’s being honest, it kind of does. Looking back, those are the moments in Martin’s dreams that stuck in his mind the most. Maybe it’s the simple truth of it; Martin is bigger than he is, and decently strong — Jon knows this. He’s seen the way Martin can lift boxes of papers or move furniture. If he really wanted to, he could easily overpower Jon, keep him still or move him however he likes. 

Jon tries to imagine it happening right then. If Martin took his wrists in his hands, held them firmly, or maybe even a little too tight… how would that feel? What if he grabbed Jon with both arms, held him up? Georgie had done that to Jon once — she’d come up at him from behind to scoop him up. It startled Jon quite badly; he wasn’t used to being touched without warning, and couldn’t remember a time anyone had lifted him up like that. Georgie ended up with a bloody nose and teased him about it for a month. 

That wouldn’t happen with Martin, Jon thinks. It wouldn’t be a surprise. He’d let Jon know beforehand, and he would be gentle about it. But would he be firm, too? If Jon tried to get away, like in the dreams, would Martin makes sure he couldn’t escape? 

The idea probably shouldn’t be quite so appealing. 

“I think… I wouldn’t mind trying it,” Jon finally decides. He looks at Martin, eyes wide. “Can we?” 

Martin’s eyebrows shoot up; he looks so surprised that Jon can’t help but laugh. “T-try? Try, try what?” 

“I don’t know! Something to do with the, ah, the holding me down part?”

“Jon-” Martin wiggles in his seat, then gets up off the couch, pacing across the room to fiddle at things with restless hands. “We can’t just… do stuff like that.”

“Can’t we? You just said it wouldn’t be a sexual thing.” 

“W-well, sure-”

“So it’s not that strange, is it? Unless you don’t want to.” Jon watches Martin, keeping his hands politely in his lap, even as they begin to twitch with some desire he can’t identify. “We don’t have to.” 

Martin turns and stares Jon down; Jon stares right back. He gets the sense they’ve approached the cusp of something, and Martin’s choice on the matter is going to be the start of something very interesting, or its premature end. 

Finally, Martin says, a little quietly, “It sounds like you might be interested in something like… bondage. Maybe something to do with pressure? We could… We could do that, maybe,” he mumbles. “It wouldn't be- that would be okay, I think.” 

Jon flaps his hands briefly, unable to help himself. “It’s okay? We can try?” 

“I’m going to have to look up some things; it’s been a while,” Martin tells him, voice surprisingly firm. It’s enough to make Jon sit still once more, though the jitters travel restlessly up and down his body, giving him goosebumps. “And- and we have to _talk_ about it first, okay? Figure out a few things — safewords and boundaries, stuff like that.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Jon says brightly, kicking his feet. 

Martin finally gives him a smile. It’s a little weak, and he’s blushing again, but Jon can see there’s some genuine interest in his eyes. Even if he isn’t quite as enthusiastic about exploring this as Jon, he seems at the very least willing to indulge his friend. “I’ve, uh, done a bit of it. Just a bit though, and mostly, um- Well, like I said, I’ll refresh myself on how to go about it.”

“Is there anything I can do?” 

“Um…” Martin blushes a little harder as he says, “We’ll have to pick up some rope? I don’t have any, s-so, you should come with me… to do that… so you can choose what you like best.” 

“Will we have to go to a sex shop for something like that?” 

“It’s possible to buy what we need online, but ropes have different textures, and you wouldn’t be able to test them out that way.” 

Visiting a sex shop isn’t exactly Jon’s idea of a pleasant Sunday afternoon, but to be fair, he’s never been in one. Maybe it won’t be as bad as he’s imagining. If nothing else, he’s curious in seeing what it’s like.

Eventually, Martin wanders his way back to the couch. When he sits down, it’s closer than he was before, which makes Jon smile. “You’re really okay with all this?” Martin asks.

“Yes. I want to try it,” Jon assures him. 

“And you… You don’t mind doing that sort of thing, with me?” 

“You’re my friend,” Jon tells him, with great austerity. “I trust you. I think it could be fun. And even if it isn’t, at least then we’ll have given it a try, and I’ll know how I really feel about it.” With a bit more levity, Jon adds, “I promise I’ll stop pestering you about all this, if that’s ultimately the case.” 

Martin’s laugh has the edge of nerves present in it, but mostly he sounds relieved, and more like himself. “Okay, okay. As long as you’re sure. We can, uh, try going someplace next weekend?” 

Jon nods in agreement. He does feel sure of himself, very sure. He wants to do this, and he’s very glad Martin is going to be the one doing it with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs:  
> > martin recounts another one of his dreams to jon. this one takes place in a busy club, and then an alleyway   
> > jon kinda sorta skirts the edges of subspace without realizing what's happening. martin gets a vague idea after hearing him describe the feeling, but does not mention his theory to jon


	3. falling into step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again~ Sorry for the delay, I was writing a whole bunch of other things for a while ^^; But no worries, I love this fic a lot and I'm excited to try getting back to it! 
> 
> This chapter is shorter, because I really wanted to update, and it's sort of a transition into the next part of the fic. The chapter after this should be much longer~ 
> 
> And hey thanks SO much to everyone who's left a comment on this fic, it honestly got such a nice reception that I wasn't expecting ;w; It means a lot so thanks for letting me know how much you've been enjoying it! 
> 
> Thank you as well to Prim for beta reading! 
> 
> No CWs for this one - enjoy~

On Saturday, all four of them go to a history museum, and it’s fun, but Martin’s half-distracted the whole time. He can’t stop thinking about what he and Jon had agreed to do. He can hardly believe it happened. **  
**

The day is spent exploring the new exhibits and strolling through the butterfly gardens; each occasion bookmarked by Martin excusing himself to the restroom to clear his mind and settle his nerves. Jon is acting normal, enthusiastic about the exhibits and playfully arguing with Sasha or Tim about this or that subject. Jon and Tim had been in the middle of a debate concerning a statue when Martin felt the need to take another break. He’d been focusing quite a lot on the intensity of Jon’s face, and the sound of his voice gently echoing in the wide rooms of the museum. He was so in his element, luxuriating in a place of knowledge, happy to spend time with his friends — it looks so good on him, and Martin can’t help but want him.

It’s embarrassing. It feels like Martin can barely control himself, sometimes, and what the two had decided that day prior was only making things worse. Before, it had always felt so impossible to get close to Jon in _that_ way. Deep down, in the secret places Martin tries to ignore, he knows he wants more, but not at the expense of their friendship. It’s too important to Martin, worth just as much if not more than the idea of a romance with Jon. He’s long since come to the conclusion that it’s easier to decide never to mention it or make any moves than risk what they have. In the end, Martin believes it’s the best choice, and he hasn’t regretted it for even a moment. His crush on Jon isn’t a burden just because he knows the affection could never be returned. 

The dreams had… complicated things. Definitely. Martin had started feeling so, so guilty over his feelings for Jon, and worried there would be no way to prevent the inevitable fallout. His crush was going to corrupt everything, and once Jon fully understood the extent of his feelings, he’d want to distance himself from Martin. 

The only problem with Martin’s surefire slippery slope prediction is that none of it has happened. Once again, Jon ended up surprising him. Not that Martin ever underestimated Jon, really, or thought little of him, it was just… Well, they hadn’t started out on the right foot. It had been very easy to assume Jon’s prickly demeanor when the two of them first started working together was his true personality, given how consistent he was about it. During the first few months of working in the archives, there didn’t come a single hour in the day where Martin expected to see Jon doing anything other than frown, mutter, sneer, or berate them. Or just Martin specifically; he’d noticed Jon wasn’t nearly as harsh with Tim or Sasha as he was with Martin, which hurt quite a lot. Martin had been determined to slot himself into his very familiar role, just as comfortable as it was hated: he would keep his head down and tip-toe around Jon’s erratic temper, try his best to only make mistakes once, and continue to be pleasant. Martin had known it was a futile effort, to extend kindness to someone who so clearly didn’t want it. 

Then Jon surprised Martin by changing. It was very gradual, but bit by bit, he warmed up to Martin. Soon the mundane repetition of work in the archives became less a source of stress and more just… their job, a daily grind they suffered together in exchange for a paycheck. One day, Jon started accepting their offer of drinks after a hard workday, or would sometimes deign to join them in the breakroom for lunch. 

About five months into it, Jon approached Martin at his desk. His expression was stern, but his hands — usually kept very firmly crossed or threaded, holding each other still — were fidgeting with the strap of his bag as he asked if Martin would like to join him for lunch. By then Martin could tell he was running headfirst into a terrible crush, and he’d been trying his best to ignore it. Unfortunately, his resolution was no match when faced with Jon’s somewhat shy inquiry, and the lunch that followed. 

Jon had apologized. He’d confessed to getting a talking to from both Sasha and Tim, at which point he’d agreed to ‘tone it down’ and not get on Martin's case about things so much. Obviously things had improved, but Jon had realized the way he’d treated Martin before hadn’t been fair. Even if things were better between them now, it didn’t make up for the fact that Jon had — in his words — been using Martin as a punching bag of sorts; Jon’s stress and frustration at the impossible task set before him by the disorderly archive hadn’t been a good excuse to behave the way he did. 

Martin had accepted the apology as graciously as he could, given his state of mind had been thrown into utter chaos. And- and when he told Jon he appreciated what Jon had said, and admitted that he also hoped the two of them could get to be friends, Jon had smiled. That was it, really. Martin had seen the wall coming from miles away and couldn’t do anything but run into it face-first. 

Now here they were, and Jon was still surprising him. He’d listened to Martin talk about his awful little fantasies and had shrugged them off; not just that, he _liked_ hearing about them. He wanted to talk to Martin about them. He wanted to try _doing_ some of those things! There was no way Martin could have possibly predicted the way things were turning out. 

The sound of the bathroom door opening interrupts Martin’s thoughts, and he jumps a little, embarrassed for standing in front of the sink for — how long had he been zoning out? He hastily turns the faucet off and sidesteps the stranger as they enter, resisting the urge to apologize or something. They have no idea what Martin was thinking, nor how long he’d been in the bathroom, so there was really no need to be so anxious. 

Still, he’s a bit twitchy when he rejoins the others again. Apparently his absence was noted this time. As Tim and Sasha begin critiquing some huge Renaissance painting, Jon hangs back, turning to Martin and asking, “Are you alright?”

“Just- Sorry, I was just thinking about things,” Martin admits, hoping against hope that he’s not blushing. “Uh, about next weekend, sort of.” 

At the mention of their future plans, Jon bounces just once on the balls of his feet, a small smile playing on his lips. “Are you excited?” 

“I- I think it’ll be, uh, very interesting at least.” 

“I’m excited,” Jon says quietly, then hurries over to Tim, frowning. “No, Tim, that’s not what pomegranates symbolized in paintings of this era…” 

* * *

Before Martin knows it, the day arrives, and he finds himself standing alongside Jon as they walk into a sex shop. It’s not nearly as much of an ordeal as he’d been working himself up into believing, in the end. 

The front half of the store is pretty tasteful, bordering on mundane; the woman at the counter greets them cheerily, and leaves them to explore at their own pace. Most of what’s immediately available seems to be pamphlets, educational and self-help books, and normal stuff like bottles of lube. The most risque thing within sight are small boxes with pretty vibrators nestled into one of the corners, farthest from the small, dim front windows. 

Of course Jon notices the curtains, though. He double-checks with the cashier, asking if they’re allowed into that section of the store, and she lets them know that yes, they’re perfectly allowed. That’s where they keep the really fun equipment, she tells them with an impish smile. Martin tries not to blush and fails. 

The back is certainly more… varied in its stock. Martin’s still staring, intimidated, at the nearest dildo — neon green and thicker than his wrist — when Jon makes a sound of extreme interest and scampers off. 

Feeling awkward about following his friend around, Martin lets himself drift down a separate aisle. He’s only ever been in a place like this once — it was a much smaller, less colorful store, where the front mostly advertised crude or vulture ‘adult themed’ merchandise. He hadn’t really enjoyed his time in that place, but the vibrators had been cheap. 

Martin was grateful he and Jon seemed to be the only two people in the store at that moment, which wasn’t so surprising given the day. Who came to a sex shop on a Sunday afternoon? 

“Martin!” 

“O-oh! Yes?” 

“Come look at these.”

It takes a minute to hunt Jon down through the small maze of shelves and dividers, but Martin manages it eventually. He finds Jon standing near the back wall of the store, inspecting coils of rope that hang on hooks. They came in different colors and, upon closer inspection, different textures. 

“I did a bit of research before we came over,” Jon explains, reaching out to tug at one of the brightly-colored ropes. “If we want something less expensive, we should avoid cotton, and I learned that synthetic ropes are typically cheaper, more durable, and easier to manage, but they don’t hold knots as well. Do you prefer something like that, or something that will keep a knot?”

“Um.” Martin tries to think back on the small handful of times he’s engaged in bondage. “I think something that knots well would be best. Not too scratchy. It’s better if it’s cheap, but I don’t mind buying something a bit more expensive if it feels nicer and holds up better.” 

“I thought I was buying it,” Jon says, quirking a brow. 

Martin sputters. “I- I mean, um, I just. I feel like I should be the one buying it?” 

“I suggested trying it in the first place.”

“But only because of-” Martin stops himself, then shakes his head. He gently pats the length of red rope in Jon’s hands before taking a half-step away. “You buy it, if you want. I could too, of course, but it’s rope for you, isn’t it?” 

Jon smiles. “Yes, it is. And I think I like this one. It has good ‘tooth’, I believe is the term. I like how it looks and feels against my skin.”

“It does look nice,” Martin agrees — the red isn’t super saturated, but it stands out against Jon’s darker complexion. “Did you- um, did you want to keep looking for anything else?”

“Do you think we’ll need anything else?” Jon asks, even as he already begins to drift further into the store. This time, Martin follows closely.

“Not really? If we’re just doing some light bondage, the rope should be enough.” 

“Oh, what about this?” Jon reaches out to touch at some long strips of fabric, advertised for use as blindfolds. They hang alongside what look to be sleep masks, some plain, some sporting fancy lace or brighter colors. 

Martin can’t help wrinkling his nose. “We could just use a shirt or something if we want a blindfold. Don’t have to buy one.”

“But they feel so nice…” Jon’s fingers flit between a couple of options, of various colors and materials, comparing their texture. He’s got that look in his eye that Martin always likes to see. 

  
So, scrubbing his voice of any indication he thinks buying a strip of fabric constitutes a waste of money, he says, “If you like one, you should go ahead and get it then! Maybe… You could be blindfolded at the same time, if you’d like. That wouldn’t be so much extra.”

“Hmm.” Jon muses as he continues inspecting the various options. Then, after a few more seconds, he fishes one off its stand. Simple, black, with just a bit of shine to it. “This one’s nice, and a good price.”

“Anything else?”

“...Sort of. I had a question, anyway.”

“Oh?”

“I was wondering how you know about these things,” Jon says, making a vague gesture to the store around them. “Bondage, safewords — kink things. You make it sound like you’re familiar?”

Martin hears the question for what it is, and can’t help blushing. “I mean, yeah- just, just a bit. I’ve been tied up before.”

Jon’s eyes light up. “Really? Did you enjoy it?”

“I’ve been tied up a couple of times,” Martin amends, smiling weakly as he drifts down an aisle of the store so he won’t have to look at Jon directly. “I haven’t done anything really intense or anything, though. No, whips or gags or… stuff like, I dunno, punishment? Real BDSM stuff.” 

Jon hums thoughtfully, then moves past Martin to look at a shelf with fuzzy dice and gimmick pillows. After thoroughly inspecting every type and texture of pillow available, Jon gives the store one last sweep, sparing a moment to raise an incredulous brow at some of the larger dildos, before returning to Martin’s side and humming his readiness to depart. 

They leave the store with a single, plain black bag, which Jon carries close to his chest.


End file.
